Pieces
by clarksmuse
Summary: Sequel to World's Apart and Tonight. Sam Winchester realizes things aren't over. Not while Chloe is around. SPN xover with Smallville. Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. Please don't sue.


_I tried so hard  
Thought I could do this on my own  
I've lost so much along the way_

It was quite a shock the day Sam Winchester realized he was in love with Chloe Sullivan. He hadn't gone looking for it, certainly hadn't wished it to happen. Up until now, Sam never thought of her as anything more than just his best friend. Hell, she was Dean's girl – the fact that Dean had been gone a year wasn't the issue. Chloe loved his brother until the day he died, and Sam knew she still loved him. Her face was marred with her loss, a perpetual blankness residing in the laughter creases around her eyes. She was like a walking corpse, much as he was.

The last year had been nearly impossible. Everyday, Sam was plagued with thoughts of what might have happened had Dean not appeared at the crossroads and stopped him. Had Chloe not walked through the door of that dingy, run-down bar and reminded him why he needed to continue on. That despite everything he had lost, he still had a purpose in this life. Neither of them knew what purpose they had, but it had been enough at the time.

Chloe had continued to hunt with him after Dean's death; she wrote freelance editorials and articles for the _Daily Planet_ while she fulfilled her promise to keep an eye on him. They watched over each other, actually: Chloe evened out Sam's need to find the bloodiest cases possible, as if the horror of what they went through would erase his painful memories of how his brother had given up his life for Sam's. On the other hand, Sam kept her curious mind busy with new, inventive ways of keeping him alive. She made him take temporary jobs to keep them fed and sheltered when she was low on funds or waiting for a paycheck from her newest editorial. They kept themselves living more legally, yet always sparsely. They shared a two-bed hotel room, but only for the sake of keeping things simple. That way, Chloe could rest easier knowing Sam wasn't going to do something to hurt himself, and Sam could hold her in the night when the nightmares became unbearable.

One thing he knew, however. Chloe pushed herself as one who would save him from his never-ending grief and despair, while he filled a similar void in her heart. Mutual loss had preserved their closeness, enhanced their friendship on a level that transcended any nameable emotion. Sam had come to depend on her, just as she did him. Just as they had both depended on Dean in their own ways. As the months passed, Chloe had unknowingly crept into Sam's shattered heart with her observant green eyes, her snarky intellect, and her gentle heart.

And despite this, Chloe was his only link to Dean; she was the reminder of the family he had lost. And, in a way, Chloe had _become_ his family. He was the last Winchester; she was the only Sullivan. They had been friends for so long that he barely remembered life before she'd come nosing into their lives. Working together, sharing their passion for research and old movies, spending every waking moment together had forged a bond Sam had only experienced with one other person: his brother.

He had always called her Dean's girl, though. That was part of who she was. Sam had never forgotten how much she lost the night his brother died. So the awareness that _he_ wanted her was more unsettling than anything.

Their last hunt together had been the thing to seal the deal, so to speak. They had been investigating a house haunted by a seriously malevolent spirit that could take corporeal form in order to maim its victims. They'd gone through the usual motions: research for background, interview the current inhabitants, snoop around the property for clues. A couple of run-ins with the damn thing to keep them both on their toes.

Cleansing the house and putting it to rest, however, had been drawn-out to the point of insanity, especially given the spirit's lust for attention and blood. Their research had come up with some interesting facts, aside from that it obviously wanted the house to itself; the owner – James Waterson – had commissioned the house to be built specifically for his new wife, and when she died suddenly the night after their wedding – as the house's foundation was about to be poured – he had, in his grief and despair, taken his own life. Not, however, before he had left a suicide letter, in which he had demanded their bodies be cremated and their ashes included the mortar from which the house would be built. He wanted to be with his wife in their house forever. The only problem was that he didn't want anyone else living there.

In the end, when Sam and Chloe did the only thing possible: they burned the house itself down and barreled out of town before someone started asking questions.

Driving away from the house, watching the flames lick the nighttime sky in the rearview mirror, Sam understood how the spirit felt. Hadn't he literally lost his entire family because of the yellow-eyed demon? Hadn't that thing, in killing Mary, driven the rest of his family out of their comfort zone and into the big, ugly world so defeat it? And hadn't yellow-eyes gotten his way in the end? Sam was separated from his parents and his brother, the veil between life and death blocking them: it was almost unbearable at times. He sympathized with the man who had haunted his own house: he knew all too well how much the thought of death seemed the better choice than going on alone.

But shifting his gaze to Chloe, who was still and small in the passenger seat, Sam also realized that she was the only person left who kept him grounded. Had it not been for her, he'd have sunk into the oblivion he longed for most of the time. She was the reason he was alive. Leaving her behind to face the world alone seemed unbearable, and he vowed never to do that if he could help it. More than anything else, he wanted to see her smile again, to see her eyes light up like a Christmas tree when something excited her. More than that, Sam wished she would look at _him_ like that.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles going white, and felt the air leave his lungs. He couldn't breathe, didn't know if he would until he saw her at peace once again. And by God, he was going to do that. He just didn't know how.

&&&&&

_I've come undone  
But you make sense of who I am  
Like puzzle pieces in your eye_

_Chloe, you have to live. For me, for Sam. He's hurting, don't you see? Can't you tell he'd be lost without you?_

_But Dean, I'd be just as lost without him. Sam can't see that; I don't know how much longer I can go on, watching the weight of the world on his shoulders._

_Please, Chlo. He's my only family. Do what it takes to keep him going._

_Can I sell my soul to bring you back, then?  
_

_No. Use your soul to keep him going. You've got it in you, my love. He needs to see it. You need to tell him. He needs to know._

_But Dean…_

The dream always started the same: an empty field somewhere beyond time and space. Just the two of them. He held her in his arms. She fought the urge to cry and give up to her loneliness. Their conversation revolved around one thing: the fact they were separated. The unthinkable she had endured for a year. The hole in her heart that she thought would never heal, even though – if she was honest with herself – the hurt was starting to fade. She knew Sam had everything to do with that.

That might explain why she didn't wake up feeling like her heart had been ripped from her chest, though the tears and emptiness remained. But she awoke, the image of her on the cold ground at Dean Winchester's grave, still in her mind. Her cheeks wet with tears, she felt her body sway gently and calming warmth pressed against her face and neck; she knew Sam was holding her tightly. Her face was buried in his shirt and snapping herself out of her anxious dream, she fisted his t-shirt in her hands, crumpling the fabric with a wild desperation. She must have awakened him – if he'd been sleeping – and come to comfort her as he always did.

The nightmares were fewer and less intense, but she wished, more than anything, to move on. To accept Dean's passing and learn to find a place in the world again. To help Sam find his, as well. And if that meant staying on the road with him until they were old and gray, so be it. The _Daily Planet_ was doing fine without her. Her father was happy with his consulting position in Metropolis. Lois and Clark were in good spirits, since they were married and expecting their first child. She had everything she could ask for, except the man she'd loved since before she even knew his name.

But his brother, Sam Winchester. He needed her, and Chloe knew it. Because she needed him just as much, probably more than she realized. Strong arms tightened around her in comfort and concern, though she sensed some inner struggle that hadn't been there before. It both worried and pleased her: if Sam was warring with himself, then perhaps, just maybe, he was learning to live again. Just as she was – most of the time.

"Chloe," he whispered gruffly. "You okay?"

She nodded and said nothing for a moment, the hammering thud of his heart loud in her ear. Something was bothering him; maybe it was just the frustration of dealing with her rampant dreams. "I could ask the same of you," she replied and pulled back to look up into the darkness. His tall frame was hunched over, clutching her tightly, and she felt the roughness of his unshaven cheek brush against her cheek as he lowered his head and sighed softly in her ear.

"Nothing, Chloe. I… wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Seriously, there's something different about you." She pulled herself into a sitting position and placed her hands on his muscled chest.

"There… is?"

"Yes." She paused and turned watery eyes to his. She saw lurking in his dark eyes an unnamed emotion, something she hadn't seen spark in a long time. She felt his heart thud frantically, the only indication that he was less composed than he let on.

Sam shook his head in denial. "It's nothing."

"No, it's something. The spirit of James Waterson. He really got to you, didn't he?"

Sam nodded and looked down.

"Sam, don't you think I know you're going through? Every day of that hunt was a trial for me. Reminded me of… everything we've lost."

Shutting his eyes, he remained silent, though his arms slid up her arms and gently squeezed her shoulders. He was listening, even if his heart didn't want to hear it.

"Dean's gone, Sam. He's never coming back." Her voice was shaky, unsteady. "I don't know if either of us will ever fully recover from that. But we have something that Waterson didn't."

"And what's what?"

She paused and decided that, for once, dream Dean had been right. "Each other."

"I know that, Chloe," he whispered.

She touched his cheek and watched as he lifted his head to look at her. "No, I don't think you do, Sam," she replied with a small, uncertain smile.

Startled hazel eyes honed in on her, and she swallowed hard. The intensity of his look she had seen before, through eyes so similar to his. She took a deep breath and brought her face to his, eyes locked until hers flickered to his lips a moment before her lips touched his hesitantly.

Shock and surprise shuddered through their simple touch, and it was several seconds before Chloe felt Sam relax enough to respond. And what she got back was more than she'd bargained for: Sam pulled her against him roughly and poured all of his mind and soul into their physical connection. Their kiss deepened and turned passionate, something she hadn't foreseen. Then, just as abruptly, he ended the kiss and pulled back to look at her. His face mirrored the surprise and hope she had experienced only moments ago.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice harsh with unshed tears and emotion.

"Trying to show you something, Sam."

"And… what's that?"

"That… you mean more to me than you know."

"We're friends, Chloe. We've been through hell. I hope we'd be as close as we are now."

"No, that's not what… what I meant. I'm trying to say…" She bit her lip and looked down at her hands, now resting in her lap.

When she didn't continue, Sam frowned. "What, Chloe? What?"

"I'm trying to say that… as much as I didn't want to live without Dean… I don't want to live without you _more_."

Sam felt a rush of heat shoot through his body, from his head clear down to his toes. _What did she mean?_ he wondered. Was she telling him, finally, how the depth of their friendship affected her? Was she taking a step she was actually ready to take? He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. "I'm not going anywhere, Chlo," he whispered and tried to smile. "You're all I have, don't you know that?"

"Sometimes I do," she confessed quietly. "But don't think I haven't been watching you closely since Dean died. The first few months especially. I thought so many times whether I'd find you dead in the morning, or taken off to God knew where to make some stupid deal and leave me… alone." Her voice strangled back a sob on the last few words.

One look at her pained expression, and Sam winced and hauled her into a warm embrace. He closed his eyes and held her tightly. Letting her go wasn't an option; leaving her was even more unthinkable, one reason being that, wherever his brother was, Dean would pummel him if he up and left Chloe somehow. "I promise," he rasped after a long moment, "I'll never leave you. I won't do anything to… jeopardize our friendship."

Chloe nodded against his chest, though the tremor that ran through her worried him. It was as if she was trying to reign in something that had nearly been unleashed, and he understood the sentiment. As much as he wanted to tell her how much he loved her – as a friend, as a woman – he couldn't. Not when the guilt of loving her threatened to overcome him like a freight train, his brother's memory being the thing to flatten him like a pancake.

But none of that mattered for the moment. Chloe wanted him around; he truly mattered to her, even if he was too afraid to admit how deeply that emotion might have gone inside her.

"Sam," she whispered, "so not what I mean. It's more than friendship, Sam –" Chloe pushed back from him, her words ringing protest in his ears. He put a finger to her lips and cut her off.

"Chloe. Don't. Not now, please."

"Yes, Sam._Now_. You need to know."

"No I don't," he protested quietly. "You're helping me mend my broken heart. That's enough. That's all that matters." He looked at her, his simple honesty barely masking the vulnerability she knew lurked there. His dark eyes conveyed such depth, and Chloe finally figured out what he was feeling: love. He loved her.

And that rocked her to the core. Sam was offering her everything he had to give, including his love. The shattered pieces of his heart belonged to her, though he wouldn't admit it. Not yet.

She held his gaze and silently promised to help him mend his heart, just like he would ultimately mend hers. And somewhere in the dark, she swore she felt the shimmer of Dean's spirit with them, smiling with approval.

_Then I'll see your face  
I know I'm finally yours  
I find everything I thought I lost before  
You call my name  
I come to you in pieces  
So you can make me whole!_


End file.
